


Disenchanted

by toxicNeurosis



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: F/M, Short drabble is short, Uncle Murdy's not a good influence on said baby child, post phase 4, very curious baby child poking his nose in places he probably shouldnt be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-23 16:03:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6121919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxicNeurosis/pseuds/toxicNeurosis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're not exactly against hiding the real world from the kid: in fact, you make it your goal to show him early on just how the world really is even if you do fluff some things up a bit because, well, he's four.</p><p>But there are some things even he shouldn't be aware of yet, and Murdoc isn't helping matters much at all.</p><p>(Post Phase 4)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not the first Gorillaz fic I've written, but the first one I'm posting because it's the only one I feel is worthy of being posted right now.
> 
> In no way named after the MCR song no way no how.

You think you can sense the pitter-patter of tiny feet in the hall long before you actually hear them. You immediately shut your mouth, gesture to 2D, who pulls his head out from between your legs. All is silent for a moment, save the muffled drunken yodelling of Murdoc down in the den, then -- yep, here they come.

 _Shitshitshit._ The reaction is immediate. 2D scrabbles for discarded clothing, you flick on the lamp to make sure he’s actually tossing you your pants instead of his own, said clothing is shrugged back on, sheets thrown back over you both, lamp turned off, snuggle together to feign sleep. You get settled seconds before the door squeaks open and a little blue head pops from around the doorframe.

2D fakes a yawn, sits up. “Tim, what’re you doin’ out of bed?”

Timothy -- aptly nicknamed Tiny Tim for his small size -- tugs at his pajama shirt, staring down at his feet. “Uncle Murdy’s yelling at the television again, Daddy. ‘E’s sayin’ lots of mean stuff this time.”

You are all for telling the kid exactly how the world is and not pretending that it’s all sunshine and lollipops, but a drunken Murdoc was not intended to be part of that equation -- he lets loose too much too quickly and far, far too bluntly. You never should’ve taken pity on the old man and let him sleep in the den, former bandmate of your husband or not.

“When ain’t he?” You sit up in bed as well.

“Can I sleep with you guys tonight?”

“Don’t see why not. But you’re a big boy, you shouldn’t need to.” 2D swings his legs over the edge of the bed, picks up your bundle of joy and settles him between you. “Big boys don’t sleep wiff Mummy an’ Daddy, unless summfink’s wrong, like you’re sick or summfink.”

Tim blinks up at you both with big periwinkle eyes, then sniffs the air once, twice, and wrinkles up his nose. “It smells funny in here.”

_Shit. Stuart Harold Pot, say nothing, just act stupid, just act like a guy._

“Really? I never noticed it.”

_Bless you Stu._

Thankfully, as perceptive as your kid is -- a trait you are certain didn’t come from either side of his family -- he’s also quite gullible. His father’s feigned ignorance -- or at least you suppose it’s feigned, for all you know he may just not be able to smell it anymore -- is enough of an answer for him and he settles back against the pillows, tucking the blankets up to his chin.

His next question nearly gives you a heart attack.

“Mummy, what’s sex?”

_Saynothingsaynothingsaynothingsaynothing that’s pushing desensitizing the kid way too far way too quickly._

2D answers instead. “Where’d you ‘ear ‘bout that?”

“From Uncle Murdy.”

You definitely should never have taken pity on that perverse senile old man when you have a very curious four-year-old in the house.

“‘Aven’t we told you not to pay attention to Uncle Murdy? He talks nonsense.”

“I know, but…” He tucks his bony little knees up to his chin. “Just wonderin’.”

“It’s a grown-up fing. Nuffink you need to be worryin’ your ‘ead ‘bout right now.”

“But what _is_ it?” Damn, he’s persistent tonight.

2D sighs, sits up and pulls Tim into his lap, looks at you. _Should I tell ‘im?_ his gaze asks.

 _Fluff it up as much as you can, don’t bother with specifics, but give him the basic idea, it’ll keep him quiet for a while_ , yours replies.

“Awright, Tim. Y’know, one day you’re gonna grow up and meet this girl you just absolutely cannot live wiffout, yeah? Like Mummy and me.”

Nodnodnod.

“And you’re gonna get married, right?”

Nodnodnod.

“And when that ‘appens there’s this kinda fing that your body wants to do, like it wants to say _I love you more than life itself_ but it can’t put it into words, okay?”

Nodnodnod.

“That’s what sex is, it’s just your body’s way of tellin’ your wife that you love ‘er. Nuffink wrong wiff it. It just ‘appens naturally. Okay? Satisfied?”

Nodnodnod. “Do you and Mummy do it?”

“Yeah, sometimes. All good now?”

Nodnodnod, and Tim slides from 2D’s lap back onto the bed next to you, snuggles back down in the blankets. “Okay, Daddy.”

When Tim’s finally asleep, you turn to 2D. “Nice save.”

“Fankee.”

“You didn’t need to tell him we do it, though.”

“‘E woulda found out one day.” He yawns, nestles into the pillows. “Best to just let ‘im know now. ‘Onestly, I’m more surprised that ‘e didn’t point out that your pants are on backwards and put two and two together.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim spends the day with Uncle Murdoc and asks why his daddy hates him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like writing another so I did.
> 
> I may write more baby child drabbles in the future, I dunno.

"An' why do I 'ave t' look after your mini-me?" Murdoc growls, jabbing a bony green finger at the small skinny kid who's sitting on the floor not far away, content in playing with his blocks, which surprisingly aren't all over the floor like any other kid's blocks.

2D fixes him with a sharp glare, something he had rarely ever dared to do when the band was still together, as he straightens his tie. "Because unlike you, I do still 'ave a job" -- huh, so that law degree did him some good after all -- "an' because 'is mum's out grocery shoppin' because food is kind of important an' because you _will_ if you don' want to be sleepin' on th' park benches in Nottin'am again."

Murdoc looks taken aback. He's not used to being refused or told what to do, especially not by someone so typically meek and mild. And he knows that there is little love left for him in 2D's heart; if he threatens to throw him out he may very well do it. Things were different some twenty years ago. So very different.

Ordinarily he'd just leave the kid to his own devices -- he's a smart boy, not like his dad, he knows better than to play with sharp objects and electric sockets -- but doing so will earn him a good chewing-out from the boy's mother, and she's the only person he's ever feared besides his own old man, who's been long dead. Hell hath no fury like a woman whose son you were put on duty to watch only to neglect to watch him. It would be easier to forget about any of that if he were allowed to get into the alcohol, but 2D and the kid's mama limit his drinking and keep the liquor cabinet tightly sealed with zip-ties and child-proof locks. He doesn't like what the slow sobering is doing to his head.

When no response comes from Murdoc, 2D finishes straightening his tie, picks his kid up and kisses his face amidst giggles from the boy.

"You'll get th' bad guys, right, Daddy?"

"Bet I will. Now you keep an eye on Uncle Murdoc, okay? Don' let 'im do nuffin' 'e's not supposed to."

"Okay, Daddy." He tries to salute his father and winds up bonking himself in the forehead instead.

2D puts the kid back down with his blocks and throws Murdoc one last dirty look before heading out the door.

All is quiet for a while, save the light clicking of the wooden blocks and the kid mumbling to himself. After a time the blocks take on a more definitive shape, either a tower or the start of a castle, he can't tell which. Then the kid speaks.

"Why does Daddy 'ate you so much, Uncle Murdy?"

"Mm?" He looks over at the kid. He's 2D's spitting image: bright blue hair; lanky, bony limbs; and from what he remembers of 2D's time spent in a coma his eyes are the same bright periwinkle blue his father's used to be, even has his two top front teeth missing -- thankfully for him they'd fallen out naturally, not punched straight out of his head. The kid stands from his blocks and wobbles over, trying to pull himself up on the sofa next to him.

"I said, why does Daddy 'ate you so much?"

For a moment he's not sure what to say to the kid: tell him the truth, or lie about it? Surely he'll find out, regardless of what he says to him.

"I, uh, wasn't exactly too nice t' your dad, kid, when we were younger. Did 'e ever tell ya 'bout what 'e used t' do for a livin'?"

The kid blinks, slowly nods. "I fink so."

"We used t' be a band, kid, me an' your dad an' Uncle Russ an' Aunt Noodle. We made music. We turned th' music industry, th' whole world right on its 'ead. 'Ave ya ever listened t' those old records?"

The kid's face squinches in thought, trying to remember if he had.

"C'mere, kid, I'll show ya." Murdoc stands, a bit stiffly -- his knees have been getting bad in recent months -- and heads to the little cabinet in the hall where all the DVDs and CDs and such are kept. He flits through the cases, plucks out one -- _Demon Days_ , excellent -- tugs out his CD player and pops it in. In minutes the two of them are just sitting there, the kid in silent wonder and Murdoc in nostalgia.

"That was Daddy?" The kid points a skinny finger at the player as then-2D belts out "O Green World", as though unaware for the four short years of his life that his father could sing.

"Yep. That was 'im." There's silence for a moment, silence and the music playing. "Y'know, your dad an' I didn' always 'ate each other."

The kid blinks up at him.

"Yeah, we actually used t' get along, believe it or not. I mean, sure, I'd smack 'im around a bit, tease 'im, but 'e always took it pretty well back then. But then, somethin' 'appened; we though Noodle 'ad died. Music video accident, big one. We tried stayin' together, but I guess without Noodle we just couldn' get on like we could. I started drinkin' a lot, tryin' t' cope with it, cuz in a way, Noodle was almost like my kid. I'd 'ave rather died than let anythin' 'appen to 'er."

The kid nods slowly.

"Then I found Plastic Beach, bought th' place. Started work on a new album. I asked 2D to 'elp, and 'e said 'e didn' want to, said there was no point. So, I...kinda kidnapped 'im."

The kid blinks wide baby blues. Of course, kidnapping to a kid is quite possibly a fate worse than death. Hearing that this graying, green, pug-faced old man that had been living with him for as long as he could remember kidnapped his daddy for his own selfish reasons was probably enough to make his pee his pants in terror.

"I kinda made 'im work on th' album with me. Kept him locked up in a little bunker guarded by a whale, didn' really treat 'im like I should 'ave. Smacked 'im around a lot more, but it wasn't that sort of teasin' smackin' that it 'ad been. Then Noodle came back, alive, but by that point your daddy didn' want nothin' t' do with me at all."

The kid nods slowly again. "Are you sorry?"

"Mm?"

"Are you sorry? For doin' that to Daddy."

Is he? He's really not sure. There's a part of his long-time-sobering mind that wants to say no, but there's also a part that says yes. Just so 2D can maybe forgive him and they might be on half-decent terms again. Like the good days, some twenty years ago.

The kid blinks down at his feet for a moment, then grabs Murdoc's hand. "C'mon. You can 'elp me finish my fort."

So it was a fort after all. It's a bit of a struggle getting on his knees to help the kid with his blocks, but he doesn't really mind, not like he would have an hour ago. Maybe he just needed to get all that off his chest or something. Maybe 2D might not forgive him. Maybe he might never forgive himself. But kids are forgiving. And if 2D's lookalike forgives him, maybe that's good enough for now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc makes insightful comments about a popular cartoon educational program.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to realize that this is becoming less of a "2D and Reader with baby child" fic and more of an "aging Murdoc bonding with said baby child" fic. Don't worry, that'll be amended one day, even though these are cute as hell.

The colorful cartoon pigs on the television screen are starting to make his head ache a bit. Not necessarily from the sheer stupidity of the show itself (but who is he to judge in that front? He's not the four-year-old target audience) but from the fact that it looks like a rainbow factory had thrown up on the screen. Unnecessarily bright and blinding just like all children's programming these days. Back when he was growing up there hadn't been much of that; there were a total of maybe eight channels maximum and only one had _Sesame Street_. That, that was good programming. Sadly that one surviving relic from his childhood is also rapidly going to shit, using less and less puppetry and more and more CGI instead. The decline of the species' intelligence is at hand, and getting rid of the puppets is only furthering it that much along.

"What is this, anyway?"

He knows damn well what it is. _Peppa Pig_ , it's called, and when he'd agreed to watch 2D's mini-me for the afternoon (an occasional duty he didn't complain about so much now) he hadn't exactly signed up for streaming

every

episode

that had taken up residence

on the DVR

which was

all

of

THEM

for the past three hours straight and showing no signs of stopping. He can feel what cells in his brain not already dead from alcohol and drugs and aging thrashing about in their dying throes.

Okay, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration.

Tim shrugs, chews at the straw of his juice box.

"Where's the educational value?"

Tim shrugs again. "Dunno. 'S jus' enn'tainment."

"Why, just so less-bright kids kinda like you will sit down an' shaddap for once?"

"Pretty much." Tim blinks his bright baby blues up at him. "We don' hafta watch it, but Mummy said no 'dult movies."

"Nah, it's fine, kid, you watch your show. 'M gettin' kinda emotionally invested in this anyway." Not exactly a lie. It's a bit like looking a train wreck: every muscle fiber in his neck is telling him to look away but he just can't, and the more he can't the slightly more appealing the show becomes. There's a brief moment of silence besides the cartoon characters on the television. "So 'oo's the fat one again?"

"Which one?"

"Glasses."

"Daddy Pig."

"Why don't they just call 'im fat? I'm round in the tummy, kid, he's more'n that."

"'Cause 'snot nice."

"That's stupid. This whole 'political correctness' shit is stupid. Just t' avoid offending people. Kid, when I was your age there weren't 'bully-free' zones, there were 'free-bully' zones. An' we came out tougher than th' spineless lot that's been churned out since th' '90's. Them millenials ruined a lot o' good stuff. Even manufactured mainstream music back before them was better than what's on the radio now, even if it's all still maufactured Hollywood garbage." There's another moment of silence. "Wow, that George kid can throw a tantrum, can't 'e?"

Tim nods.

"Not like you when you were small -- er, smaller than you are now, anyway. You were quiet. You almost never cried. I liked you back then."

"What about now?"

"Yeah, you're just a bit more annoyin' now. But you're a kid, you're supposed t'be that way." A bit more silence. "What's a tortoise doin' climbin' trees?"

"'E's Tiddles. No one knows."

More silence. "It may just be gettin' old an' forgettin' things, but I never recall jumpin' up an' down in muddy puddles an' findin' it fun. An' let me tell ya, not everybody loved it, 'specially not adults. Or maybe that was just my dad."

"But it is fun!" Tim scoots his rear off the couch, hits the off button on the television. Thank Satan. "Get th' 'ose. We're makin' muddy puddles in th' garden."

"Will your mum mind?" Wait, when did he start caring about that?

"No." The kid looks a tad shifty. Murdoc finds this amusing. "But if you jump in muddy puddles, you must wear your boots."

Oh dear Lord, now he's quoting it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: about 65-70% of my knowledge of British culture and terms for common words (torch for flashlight, rubbish bin for trash can, etc., etc.) comes from this show.
> 
> And they say you can't learn anything from kids' educational TV past the age of five.
> 
> But really, this show is adorable. Even if it is a bit annoying.
> 
> And you did not misread that, there is a tortoise that climbs trees. It's as amusing as it sounds.


End file.
